Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by MZMason
Summary: Canada hasn't seen his old caretaker, Francis, for nearly twelve years.  The two finally get together again, and they get to find out about each other anew. Boy x Boy/yaoi/fluff, Franada, France/Canada, Human Names only used, AU.  Lame summary is lame.
1. Chapter 1

Franada, France X Canada, France/Canada - Boy lovin'. You've been warned. If you don't like it, then just don't read it.

Also, it's in AU, and using only Human names, since they aren't countries in this fanfiction, just from their countries.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, the characters from Hetalia.

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><p>Morning sun filtered through the curtains and warmed the Canadian's face as he groggily awoke from a satisfactory slumber. With a slight moan, Matthew Williams raised one hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes, and the other stretched across the bed to the other side, feeling for his bear.<p>

"E-eh?" Matthew squeaked and retracted his hand, sitting bolt upright; he had certainly found more than he was looking for. Slowly, Matt realized why there would be another person in bed with him - after checking to see if he was clothed or not; his 'Papa' as he used to affectionately call him, Francis Bonnefoy, had come to visit late last night after complaining about not seeing Matthew enough recently. He had claimed to be in 'withdrawl'.

After not seeing one another for nearly twelve years, their reunion several months ago was rather bitter sweet. They couldn't believe how much the other had changed. Francis was rather flirty now, and according to the people Matthew had talked to, it was not uncommon for him to bring a lady, or a man, home with him from the bar. On Matthew's end of it, Francis couldn't believe how quiet and downright shy the boy could be.

As the Canadian pondered why the Frenchman was in his bed, he slid the covers off of himself and revealed the Frenchman's bare back to the chilly morning air. The sunlight may be warm to the touch, but it was fall and Canadian mornings were notorious for being misleading temperature-wise.

Of course, Matthew would have got up, leaving Francis, and went to make breakfast at that very moment, if it wasn't for the shiver and moan that Francis released. Curious, Matthew half crawled across the Queen sized bed and lightly put a hand on Francis' shoulder while reaching to pull the covers up. He couldn't help but glance down the Frenchman's body, biting his lip before beginning to pull the covers over him.

"Ne ma petit Matthieu, comme ce qu'il voit?" Francis whispered sultrily, causing Matthew to freeze in his actions, eyes wide. He felt the Frenchman's body move slightly beneath him, but he didn't register what was happening until he was pinned on his back staring up into light blue, half-lidded eyes.

Francis, in Matthew's opinion, had always been glamorous, beautiful and handsome, all at once. He was sexy, attractive and as much as he tried to deny it, the younger man had a crush on him since they met, of course back then he didn't know that he had 'those' types of feelings towards Francis. He had never mentioned this to anyone simply because Francis had been his babysitter and primary caretaker for a few years when he around the age of five, and Francis was already twice that. Of course, he had been moved into a more stable family after their small make-do home was found and it was decided that Francis was far too young to care for Matthew by his self.

Matthew had later found himself in a home with an older British boy, Arthur Kirkland, about the same age as Francis. However, this boy was completely opposite of Francis, and insisted on both Matthew and the other boy that stayed in that home, Alfred F. Jones, to learn proper manners and drink more tea. Alfred rebelled against this, which was typical for him, and Matthew went along with it, adapting some of it into his daily living, he did enjoy maple tea quite a bit. Although Alfred and Matthew were close in age and appearance, they were also nearly complete opposites.

Francis, on the other hand, had found himself living with two of his best friends, Antonio and Gilbert, for quite some years, apparently. This was all Matthew really knew on the subject; Francis never really wanted to talk much about his time away from the younger boy, admitting it to be 'not suitable for such virgin ears'. Matthew internally shuddered for what this could possibly mean. He may be younger than Francis, but now that he was nineteen he knew a thing or too, and it's not like living with Alfred had sheltered him from all the nasty of the world.

"Matthieu?" Francis whispered, a little worriedly as he rubbed his thumb in a circular motion against the other's cheek. The younger boy had been dazed off into space ever since he had flipped him over. He sighed slightly in relief when the violet-tinted eyes blinked rapidly and moved to stare at Francis.

"F-Francis, w-what?" The Canadian located his arms that were loosely thrown to either side of his body and moved them to grasp onto Francis' shoulders and firmly push against the Frenchman in an attempt to get him off. This was the closest, other than quick hugs, that either of them had been to each other since they were young; and Matthew was still trying to understand why Francis had decided to switch bedrooms, naked, and slip into Matthew's bed.

Swiftly, Francis leaned down, mere centimetres from Matthew's face, causing Matthew's breath to hitch and his heart to race faster than it already was. The Canadian's eyes fluttered shut as he waited for the inevitable. Alas, what he got instead was a deep chuckle from the man hovering over him.

"Exactly 'ow I thought you would be, mon petit." He whispered, Matthew's eyes opening in confusion as Francis tilted his head to the side and began to nip and kiss Matthew's jaw line. Matthew squeaked but released all tension in his arms that were still, feebly, trying to keep the Frenchman away. Francis moved his head down, licking down the side of the younger man's neck before finding a sensitive spot and alternatively biting and sucking on it.

"F-F-Francis, w-what are you d-doing, eh?" Matthew stuttered out, wiggling slightly underneath the other's body weight. The Frenchman pulled away from his neck with a final lick and looked down at the Canadian's face; he noticed it was flushed, and the way the boys' lips were parted to allow more air caused him to grin widely.

"Tu es à moi maintenant, oui?" Francis whispered, tugging lightly at the collar of the Canadian's shirt, his smile softening.

"Pourquoi moi?" Matthew asked quietly, he remembered some of the French that Francis had taught him when he was younger, and did his best to study it in school without his housemates knowing that he was; they didn't approve of French - especially Arthur.

"Tu es toujours sur mon esprit." Francis rubbed his hand against the Canadian's chest, watching him closely. He had a loving expression on his face, his eyes sparkling, it was honestly taking him a lot out of him to stop himself from pushing himself onto the other boy right then and there; but that could wait.

Matthew's face was even more flushed than before as the words sunk in. Francis's face didn't change as he watched the younger boy's mouth open and close repeatedly before he swooped down and kissed his cheek, pushing himself up and grabbing his pyjama bottoms. He pulled them on before standing up and stretching, fully aware of the Canadian that was watching him from the bed, still frozen in place and staring. The Frenchman walked towards the door, sending another smile his way before slipping out and heading towards his own bedroom.

Francis knew Matthew would either lay there for awhile and think about what had just happened... Or he'd jump up after him and frantically pull him into a long, passionate and needy kiss. He chuckled softly, a man could dream, couldn't he?

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><p>All right, folks. That was the first chapter of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn". I hope you enjoyed it. :)<p>

Translations  
><em>Ne ma petit Matthieu, comme ce qu'il voit?<em> - Does my little Matthew like what he sees?  
><em>Tu es à moi maintenant, oui?<em> - You are mine now, yes?  
><em>Pourquoi moi?<em> - Why me?  
><em>Tu es toujours sur mon esprit.<em> - You are always on my mind.

So, this is the first fanfiction I have ever written, it's been months since I last wrote anything, so don't be too harsh on me.

Also, I don't know when I'll update, but reviews and ratings and whatever else will make it come quicker. It'll remind me that I am writing it.


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling steadily as the blood pounded in his ears. He sat up, looking at the closed door with his mouth agape. The Canadian teenager wasn't entirely sure what had just happened between him and his childhood crush. What had Francis meant by 'you are mine now'? He shook his head, casting away all thoughts before standing up and making his way across the room to his bathroom. Before stepping into the cool shower, Matt expelled all thoughts of Francis from his mind.

Matthew was lucky to get a small condo, two bedrooms, two and a half baths and a large kitchen/living area in a better part of Toronto. He worked as an office intern at a large agency, and made a decent enough pay to have a nice life, even though his boss was a bit of a jerk. But then again, whose boss wasn't?

Francis heard the water turn on and took his time wandering from his room, still wearing nothing but his royal blue pyjama bottoms. Quietly he made his way down the stairs and towards Matt's kitchen, beginning to prepare Matthew the most delicious breakfast the Canadian would ever have the pleasure of consuming.

_...Time Lapse..._

At last, the older man placed the golden brown crepes on the table, their deliciousness accented with the addition of strawberries and whipped cream. Satisfied with his creation, Francis served two dishes of the glorious breakfast, looking up only to meet the gaze of a flustered Canadian.

Much to his dissatisfaction, however, Francis noted that Matthew had damp hair but was fully clothed in jeans and a baggy white t-shirt that stated 'Made in Canada' on the front. He had half-heartedly hoped that Matthew would come down to breakfast in nothing more than a towel or robe, but it would seem that some things about Francis didn't rub off onto the other boy.

In all honesty, Matthew had figured that Francis would still be in his room, and remain there for quite some time after what had happened between the two; or he would simply leave and go back to his own apartment. The Canadian just wanted to curl up on the couch and read a book, or watch some mindless television show until his brain wouldn't allow him to avoid his thoughts any longer. Then he would think of what happened with Francis and discuss his feelings with his bear, which honestly wouldn't care because it was a stuffed toy.

However, at this point, Matthew wasn't entirely convinced that anything had happened between them at all; perhaps he had dreamed that Francis was in his bedroom earlier that morning. But, as Matthew locked eyes with Francis in the kitchen, he knew it had happened, and absent-mindedly placed a hand on his forming hickey, as if to hide it from view.

"Ah, Matthew, 'ow are you feeling, hmm?" Francis asked, removing the 'Kiss the Chef' apron he borrowed from Matthew's kitchen before taking a seat at the table. Slowly Matthew made his way over, sitting across from Francis before finally looking down at his meal. His troubled expression soon changed to utter surprise when he saw what had been made for him.

"Wow! D-did you make this for me? It l-looks marvellous, eh," he said, avoiding the question Francis had asked, a shy smile crossing his face. Francis forgot he had asked a question and instead opted for watching the Canadian eat. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something about the Canadian's actions just screamed for him to pay complete attention to the boy. Perhaps it was just the way the younger man moved, cautiously but sure of his actions. Francis began to eat his own meal, but did not take his eyes off of the Canadian as he admired his long, skilled fingers, and the way that he's huff out air to get that errant curl from his face.

It wasn't long before both their plates were clean, and they stood side by side washing dishes. Matthew was simply pretending as if nothing had happened earlier and life was grand. In fact, he was so good at pretending that he felt as if it was all just a dream... That was true, however, until Francis wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed the base of his neck. The Canadian froze, dropping the silverware in his hand into the sink with a clank.

"W-what...?" He stuttered out, shivering against the Frenchman's touch. He felt butterflies form in his stomach as a skilled French hand caressed his torso from behind. The lips against his ear made him shiver again, as teeth grazed his skin. He felt the Frenchman's other hand toying with the hem of his pants right before they both froze, startled. A shrill noise sounded out two notes: Ding-dong.

Hastily releasing Matthew, Francis strutted over to the front door with an eager determination; he wanted to find out who just interrupted his moment. Matthew followed shakily behind him, breathing coming out a little faster than usual; he wasn't expecting any visitors and didn't really want any; this morning had been more than enough excitement for one day. Without hesitation, the Frenchman through open the door and came face to face with a hyperactive American boy around the same age as Matthew, and he looked rather similar to the little Canadian.

"Hey, dude, what the hell are you doing at my brother's house?" He asked pointedly, crossing his arms across his chest, glaring at Francis. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans, with a large bombers jacket over top. Francis wasn't impressed.

"Votre... frère?" Francis asked slowly, looking back at Matthew, then to the American. It was true now that Francis looked closer, the two did look similar, but this boy in front of him seemed to have an air of ignorance and egotism, Francis didn't really like him. He had one hair, like Matthew's, which stood out from the rest; but his was a thick cowlick. And his eyes shone a little more blue than Matthew's. However, the person behind the American caught his interest and his eyes shot open, "Arthur, is that you?"

"Oh bloody hell! Alfred, you told me this was where Matthew lived, not this wine-drinking idiot!" Arthur cried out in his thick British accent, smacking the taller blonde on the back of the head. The American cowered slightly, frowning, while trying to look past the Frenchman to see into the house in search for his brother. He was oblivious to the tension between the two.

"Alfred... Arthur... What are you d-doing here, eh?" Matthew's quite voice carried out to them as he pushed Francis out of the way, absent-mindedly leaving his hand on his bare shoulder.

"Why is this guy in your apartment, dude? I thought you were single." Alfred, the American, stated, pointing at the older man with a raised eyebrow. Beside him, Arthur was whipping his head back and forth, looking between the Frenchman and the Canadian, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He was scowling something fierce.

"Matthew Williams! I thought I had taught you enough sense as a child! You're not supposed to let those pigs into your home! They destroy lives!" Arthur cried out suddenly, stepping forwards and glaring daggers at Francis. The Frenchman, who had remained silent until now, merely chuckled.

"Mon cher, that was so long ago." Francis stated, reaching forward in an attempt to cup the Brit's chin with his hand, only to be slapped away, "I am sorry that you misunderstood my words back then, but it should have been obvious that you were not my type." He laughed again, waving the hand that was hit in the air extravagantly, the other finding its way to the small of Matthew's back.

"I... I wasn't! You..!" The British man let out a noise of frustration, shaking his head, "Shut up, frog! Unhand my little brother, you pedophile, he is too innocent for the likes of you!" Arthur went to move towards them, only to be stopped by the American.

"Artie, you shouldn't talk about pedophilia that openly, you know." Alfred winked, causing the British man to pale more than he already was, narrowing his bushy eyebrows, "I think we should leave them alone now." The American cut in, interlocking his fingers with Arthur's. Before the British man or anyone else could respond, he handed Matthew an envelope and a winked, grinning widely, "You can thank me later, bro, have fun!"

"S-see you, Al!" Matthew squeaked out, clutching the envelope and visibly shaking. What else could possibly happen today? Matthew had to admit; even he didn't want to know the possibilities of what the afternoon could bring.

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><p><span>Translations<span>  
>"Votre... frère?" - Your... brother?<br>"Mon cher" - My Dear

This chapter is sort of. Slow moving.  
>I'm sorry, that's just the way it is! D:<br>It's basically to help tie together the two stories; the next one (Which is USUK) will tie into this plot.  
>Once again, it's unedited, really.<br>I re-read it... If that counts.  
>And if it sounds weirdly written, I just finished Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, so I'm thinking in a very British voice.<br>In case your wondering, I try to keep the chapters around 1,200 words. I don't know why, I just do.  
>Sorry it's out a little later than anticipated, stuff came up.<br>Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

We learn more about Francis next chapter... I think, hooray!  
>AND WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE IN THAT ENVELOPE?<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

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><p>The two men stood at the doorway, watching the American drag the British man off towards their rather expensive looking European car. Matthew suddenly became aware of the hand that was slowly rubbing the small of his back, and raised his head to lock eyes with Francis.<p>

"Que pensez-vous, mon cher?" Francis asked, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Without a single word, Matthew blushed deeply and turned away from the Frenchman and headed into his living room, setting the envelope down on the coffee table. From the feeling of it, he guessed it was probably tickets to some sporting event or concert; his brother had always been fond of dragging him along with him when Arthur refused to go with him. "Mon cher?"

Matthew sat down on the couch, looking up at Francis quickly before diverting his eyes. He was still shocked by what had happened between the two of them in the last twelve hours. Where did they stand, and why was Francis being so direct with him? Did Francis also have feelings towards him? Did Matthew even want this sort of relationship? It all seemed to be happening to fast for him. He sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands.

"Mathieu, mon cher, talk to me please?" Francis sat down on the sofa beside the lithe Canadian, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder, "If I said or did anything to upset you, mon petit, tell me... Si vous plait?"

"I-it's nothing, eh. I'm just thinking." He lifted his violet eyes, biting his lip, "Francis... What did Arthur mean by what he said? What happened between you two, eh?" The Canadian couldn't help but noticed a flash in Francis' eyes before he leaned his head on Matthew's shoulder, sighing.

"It's a very long story, Mathieu... Are you sure you'd like to hear?" He questioned, wrapping his arm around the other's slender waist.

"I have nowhere else to be." Matthew leaned slightly into the embrace, closing his eyes and getting ready for the Frenchman's speech.

"Well, back in high school, I must admit I had a little bit of a crush on the young Arthur. When he was more... Open. He was different then." After a curt nod, he continued, "You see, when I was that age, I was an even bigger flirt than I am now, if you could imagine." He laughed lightly trailing off and going silent.

"W-what happened?" Matthew gulped, glancing silently at Francis who had his eyes closed, lost in memories.

"He was my first boyfriend, and vice versa. I cheated on him with a French exchange student... They both left me when they found out about each other." He sighed before lifting his head up and gazed at the startled face with a twinkle in his blue eyes, a weak smile gracing his face, "I wasn't in love with either of them... My heart was already taken."

The Canadian looked confused as he stitched his eyebrows together, "You were in a love... square?" This statement made Francis laugh loudly, pressing his lips against Canada's ear.

"You're adorable. Non, mon cher, I was in love with you, and I always have been." He admitted before pulling away and looking slightly shocked with himself.

"You... You l-love me?" Matthew shuddered, looking at him incredulously. "How is that p-possible, eh? We haven't seen each other in years..."

"After I lost you, I used every resource I could manage to hear any glimpse of you..." He pulled his arms away and looked down at his hands, "Of course, I wasn't in love with you until I saw you at the park a few winters back, ice skating with Alfred and Arthur." Francis sighed, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling, "You were only thirteen, and yet you looked as old as Arthur... I kept seeing you after that; shopping, at sporting events, walking past me in the street. I treasured every glimpse..." The Frenchman trailed off, chuckling softly, "I sound like a stalker."

"You never said anything to me..." Matthew whispered quietly, "You could have... You could have... You should have...!" Francis looked quizzically at the stuttering Canadian, surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"I-if you want me to leave-"Francis began, but was cut off by Matthew throwing his arms around his neck.

"Don't leave me ever again!" Matthew shouted into the nape of Francis' neck, causing the half-nude Frenchman to choke on the words in his throat. He snaked his arms around the slender frame of the sobbing boy.

They sat there in silence for what felt like eternity before Matthew pulled back and rubbed his eyes. "S-sorry," he said in a small voice before attempting to stand, only to be stopped by Francis.

"Non, je suis desole..." Francis reached a hand up to rub a stray tear, "If I had known you felt this lonely; if I had known you missed me this much, Mathieu, I am an idiot for not approaching you sooner."

"Je t'aime..." Matthew whispered, leaning forward to press his forehead against the Frenchman's.

"Je t'aime aussi." Francis replied, tangling his hand in the Canadian's sandy hair, tipping his chin up to place a soft kiss on his chapped lips.

Matthew's eyes slipped shut as he returned the kiss, opening his mouth to allow Francis entrance. He slipped his hands down Francis' chest, resting them finally on his torso. They broke apart and gazed into one another's half-lidded eyes.

"Follow me." The Canadian smirked, tucking two fingers into Francis' waist band before pulling him up and towards the stairs.

The Frenchman let out a soft chuckle, "Mathieu, I never knew you were-" however, his sentence was never finished for a certain Canadian had once again captured his lips as he lead him up the stairs.

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><p>:'D Sorry it's so ... odd. I had surgery yesterday and I finished this today, so everything's a little jumbled in my head. Anywho, hope you enjoy. 3 Love y'all!~<p> 


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